


Lengthwise Change

by frooit



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Brotherly Love, M/M, Twincest, and minor cow's blood, and pounces, face sucking, maybe there's dirty talk too, murphy taunts, over a sink, some grinding, stuff happens in a bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frooit/pseuds/frooit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Impromptu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lengthwise Change

The day is overcast, the air is cool, and the smoke from Murphy's just-lit cigarette is hanging around like the thought on Connor's face.

"'Ey, Connor."

The smoke hangs longer and twists and holds there for the words he's just spoken. Both of them separated by the wide space between the two truck ramps that come up for loading. Boxes and meat and heavy lifting that Murph whines about back at the flat when nobody's there to hear. Break for a smoke they're getting paid for. Break for a breather and not inhale of animal blood, or sweat from elbow-to-elbow tag teaming. It's a job, but who said they're complaining.

"Fuck, man. Earth to _Connor_."

"What?" And Connor doesn't even look at him. Just winces up his face like he does and blows his mouth full of smoke long ways. Out the side of his mouth and not straight forward like Murph.

Murphy drops his cigarette to the ground, crushes it out under his boot, leans against the wall. _Drops_ back against it. He might have crossed his arms, but he's already put his gloves back on. They're bloody. Red. And he watches them before he asks. "Ya still sore?"

Connor snorts. Uncrosses his legs carefully, looks over now, amused half-smile in eyes behind hand and orange cigarette point. "Fuckin' aye, ya daft bastard I'm sore. Take a shove to the nuts and not been afterwards? Fuck." He's shaking his head and flicking his cigarette, putting his own gloves back on, wiggling fingers, turning back inside.

" _Hey_."

"Fuckin'--what now?"

 

There's a lock on the door, but it's rotted enough you could kick it in on one, and it looks like it has been once. A sink to the left of that, and then a free-standing toilet. It's a bathroom, the employee one, and Murphy's dragged Connor inside. Shoved him sideways. Locked the lock. Grinned ear to ear.

"Wha--" and that's all well and good until Murphy's got him against the furthest wall and his hands are under his shirt. Heavy duty worker's gloves there no more. Damp, moist hands from sweating inside them so long. Unnaturally smooth because of it. Some kind of mock delicacy. Some kind of tacky stick that's making Murphy's hands grip without gripping and Connor's insides get the heat turned up.

Pressing up, lengthwise, and the smell of butcher's blood and sweat only stronger. Warm. Smoke and Murphy underneath that just enough. Familiar. Pushing his face into Connor's throat, and then a leg, a thigh, for his crotch and isn't that a _bad move_.

" _Christ._ Ya stupid fuck." And Connor winces, lifts away so he's on his toes and Murphy's smirking. And Connor knows it because he feels a shadow of it against his neck.

"Here I'm doing you a favour and ya call me stupid."

"Don't be so motherfucking clumsy and we won't have a problem."

"This is all because of how ya treat women, ya know."

"Fuck you and your hands, _move_."

"Ma told ya to respect women." And Murphy's finding his way down Connor's jeans. Not even bothering to take their white overcoats off, to unbutton him, because this won't take long. Just a little hand game, just a little mouth to mouth.

"That wasn't a woman."

"Aye." And Murphy's kissing him, so the burn still in his crotch is something completely different. Murphy's fingers wiggling and inching further down and then getting contact and Connor sucking a wet breath from Murphy's mouth into his own. Aftertaste of some Canadian imports he likes to buy, some flavour, and Connor biting down, screwing up his face, doing everything he can not to just _thrust_.

Growl from Murphy for the bite, hand just petting, slow, lazy, and Connor's not sure which is worse: empty burn, or _this_ burn. Smooth-damp hand just on the other side of boxers, and _fuck all_ , he wants to really feel it. Cool enough so the chill's welcome and he'll hiss. Will take Murphy and switch him over and press his shoulders up into a wall hard enough to leave a mark maybe, _maybe_ , and kiss him so his mouth's red before they leave, and resituate, and walk out, and stack more meat. Lips with blood bruised to the surface for everyone to see. And not just whisper about his 'incident' yesterday. Shift the word.

And maybe Murph really _can_ read minds like he'd always suspected as a kid, because he's pressing the heel of his palm down enough so that's _pain_ and Connor whimpers back. Shrinks far enough from the idea now, but it's there enough to have happened already.

"You get that from Ma," he says. Wonders how appropriate the subject is given the moment, but decides he doesn't give a shite because he's in _pain_ , and wouldn't Murphy be making it worse with his fingers there and not there.

"What?" Back against his throat, licking the salt out of the skin, the tattoo.

"Yer both fuckin' evil." So he really does it this time. Regrets losing the teeth and wet hot tongue on his throat, aye, but gains a foot between Murphy's and a knee braced into the wall and his thigh against crotch. Secure and rush of voice not yet a word. And they're probably making all kinds of fucking noise, but let people wonder. Let him catch his brother by the balls so literally he can laugh about it. And let Murphy struggle. But when Connor's set on something... he's bruising, and he knows it.

He'll have marks on Murphy's skin he can poke at later. Purple, yellow, rainbow. Place a hand over, squeeze, get a wince just right, and wasn't Murphy supposed to be making his crotch better? Oh, wait, fuck.

"We should get back out there. Might send a search party," Connor suggests. Real proud of himself for not wavering or cracking on any letter. Words flat as confessional air.

"Let 'em fucking wonder." And Murphy's out of breath, who'd have imagined.

"Patience is a virtue." Presses his lips to Murphy's. Nothing else for a long moment but breathing and the sink dripping and the background grind of machinery.

"And what's this?"

"A bathroom." He doesn't quite leave Murphy in there like he wanted to. He drags him out by the arm and lets him have his glare and his shove when they get back. Find their gloves still on a box waiting for them. Sink back into their whatever. And Connor just _beams_ because Murphy's lips are red and used and people _are_ looking.


End file.
